Bedside Manner
by Milieva
Summary: During an adventure, Rose comes down with a cold, and the Doctor tends to her.


**Author's Note: **This story was written for a friend who asked for Ten and Rose "playing doctor".

It is also the first Doctor Who story I have decided to post here on FFN . I do have an extensive archive on my fanfiction journal.

* * *

**Bedside Manner**

**--by Milieva**

"So, explain to me again why we can't go back to the TARDIS?" Rose asked, trying her best not to whine, but feeling it would be warranted.

"Because that would be rude," the Doctor repeated for what had to be the sixth time in the past hour.

He'd left out the rest of the explanation he'd given her up to the fourth and fifth times she'd asked. All revolving around the fact she was apparently ill and their hosts wouldn't approve of him taking her away until she was better. Either he'd given up adding in the details about etiquette or he was too fixated on the little contraption he was building to be bothered.

Just a half mile away there was some large sea monster troubling the locals, and Rose was stuck in bed pretending to be a well behaved patient. To their hosts at least, because she was anything but when she and the Doctor were alone.

"I feel bloody awful," Rose groused before blowing her nose in the now over used handkerchief.

"I told you not to touch the baby," he chided, snapping bits and bobs together.

True, he had told her, but she'd thought he was just being melodramatic. Or ironic. One thing she didn't expect was for his warning to be real. Apparently the Craven's baby was also sick.

"And don't swear," he added.

"I probably have smallpox or something equally terrible," Rose complained sitting up so she could look at him over the foot of the bed.

The Doctor was holding the tangle of wires and circuits up to the light from the window as if trying to figure out why it wasn't working properly. He pushed his specs up his nose and probed it with the sonic screwdriver. Nothing seemed to be making any difference.

"You don't have smallpox."

"How would you know?" she huffed, flopping back into the pillows. "It's not like it isn't possible."

He tugged two wires loose. The blue wire he then reattached where the yellow wire had been and the yellow wire he attached beside the green wire where the blue one had been.

Still nothing happened.

Setting his contraption down on the table, he climbed to his feet and tucked his spectacles in his pocket. Turning to Rose with what could only be an exasperated expression on his face, he stated, "First, you have not been exposed to the virus. Second, you've basically been inoculated for that disease as well as a multitude of others by simply being inside the TARDIS."

"Of course you'd say that."

"What do you want from me? Pity? Because, I don't feel sorry for you. The baby was sick and I told you not to touch him. It was your own fault."

"I almost wish I was at home, cos Mum at least would do something. Unlike you. You're too busy with that thing of yours to even double check I only have cold."

"I gave you a perfectly suitable examination earlier."

"And made cracks about leeching," she grumbled, working herself more firmly into bedlinens. "I just want to sit on the sofa in front of the telly with a bowl of soup and a proper box of tissues."

"1820. No Telly."

"A fact I am all too aware of."

"There's a well stocked library downstairs. I could get you a book. Austen… Radcliff… Dickens…?"

Rose grimaced.

"Or not Dickens," he offered with all the helpfulness of someone merely wanting to stop the complaining so he could get back to what he was doing.

"Well, you think about what books you want. I'll be back in an hour," the Doctor said as he opened the door.

"Wait. Where are you going?"

"The TARDIS. I'm missing a part," he explained as if it was completely obvious and she shouldn't have asked such a ridiculous question. "Just be sure not to come down with a different imaginary disease before I get back."

The door clicked shut, leaving Rose completely an utterly alone, which only made her feel more miserable. Pulling the quilt up she rolled over and buried her face in the pillows. Complaining wasn't much fun without an audience.

What she really wanted was an aspirin for the headache, but since there was no chance of that happening, she might as well go for the next alternative, a good sleep. At least being alone had some advantages. She didn't have the hum of the sonic screwdriver or the Doctor's muffled curses to keep her awake.

Shutting her eyes, Rose hoped she would be deemed well enough tomorrow that she might be able to help the Doctor rid the lake of the ferocious beasts, or she would really be frustrated.

There was nothing she hated more than missing out on an adventure.

*.*.*.*.*

It was nearly dark when the Doctor returned. He tried his best to be a quiet as possible, but somehow he couldn't manage that. When he opened the door, the hinges chose to scream out in protest. Then he proceeded to trip over his own feet and very nearly succeeded in knocking a lamp to the floor.

By the time he had made it completely into the room and had shut the door behind him, there had been no way Rose could have possibly stayed asleep.

"I thought you were only going to be gone an hour," she said as she pushed herself up.

"I was only gone an hour," he protested as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

The shift in her expression reminded him she would never accept that answer, so he had better change it and explain himself.

"I just didn't come up here," he admitted quietly.

"Sort of guessed that."

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair and scratched at the back of his neck, chuckling softly. He looked at her thoughtfully, but didn't venture a response. Perhaps he was a little afraid of her wrath.

With a heavy sigh, Rose shuffled in her pillows trying to find a comfortable position. In all honesty, she'd rather just roll over and go back to sleep, but apparently the Doctor wanted to talk.

Or he had decided to talk after the comments about her mother, and how she had a better bedside manner.

The only problem was he didn't talk. He just sat there, watching her.

"Something you wanted?" Rose prompted after about five minutes of awkward silence.

"I've been downstairs having a lovely chat with Mrs. Craven, actually."

"About what?"

"You," he said, turning his body toward her, so his knee on the blankets was resting quite firmly against her leg beneath them.

Rose wasn't sure if it was his touch or the giddy smile on his face that made her stomach do a bit of a flip-flop.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," he affirmed, grinning like a loon, and leaning forward to brush the stray hair from her face.

"What about me?" she squeaked, trying to ignore the trigger of electricity his touch elicited, because he was likely completely oblivious to the effect he was already having on her, and it was best not to let herself get too excited by it.

"More on my bedside manner than anything else, actually," he clarified, sitting up.

Yes, he was oblivious, Rose confirmed mentally, rather wanting to throttle him for it.

"I informed her that you were wanting your mother, and asked what she did for her own children when they were ill."

She couldn't help but smile at the idea of him asking their hostess for advice. Mr. I-am-so-damn-brilliant-you-can't-even-begin-to-imagine asking someone else to tell him what he should be doing, as his own thoughts obviously weren't working.

"And what did she tell you?"

He reached behind himself to a small pile of items Rose hadn't seen before. She assumed he must have dropped them on the bed when she wasn't paying full attention to him. The hand he brought back toward her held a rather silly looking plush animal, which looked like some cross between an octopus and a squirrel.

"She said her oldest, Jane, was always partial to having one of her dolls with her, preferably one of the soft ones which had been made by her mother or grandmother," he stated, placing the animal in the crook of Rose's arm, before continuing. "She then went on to tell me that you are longing for your mother because you want to feel safe and warm."

"Oh, really," Rose teased. "Is psychoanalysis common in Regency England?"

"Not terribly popular yet, actually. Mind you, this is no longer _technically_ the regency period. George the III has died and George IV is now king, no longer Prince Regent."

"You know what I mean."

"Anyway…When she said you might want to feel warm and safe, I thought about all the different things which could make you warm, and I settled on one I think you might like."

Returning to the collection, he picked up a small folded bit of fabric. Taking hold of a corner, he shook it loose and held it up. Even in the dim light of the room, Rose recognized the quilt from the library. She'd fallen asleep under it countless times.

Behaving very much like a temperamental child, she reached out and snatched it out of his hand. Cuddling it to her chest she smiled up at him.

Plushies and blankets, he was definitely getting better at this.

She could see the twinkle of a witty comment in his eyes, but he held his tongue and merely smiled down at her in that way that made her go soft and squishy inside. If he kept this up, she might be willing to forgive him for ignoring her for so long earlier.

"Was there anything else the wise Mrs. Craven suggested?"

He nodded, and flashed her yet another brilliant grin as he pulled his specs out of one pocket and the trusty stethoscope out of another.

"She said I ought to be sure I didn't miss anything during my diagnosis this morning."

There was something about the sudden change of tone to his that left Rose speechless, with her heart hammering in her chest.

The sun sank below the horizon as he leaned forward, pushing the sleeve of her nightgown up her arm. The only light in the room came from the small fire in the grate, and it glittered across the lenses of his glasses as he studied the skin of her wrist.

"No rash here," he confirmed. "But we can't be too sure."

Letting that sleeve drop back, he moved the other one up to nearly her elbow, and looked it over with even more attention. His touch caused Rose to tremble as he traced a feather light line back down to her wrist.

"You can see that in the dark?" she breathed.

"Time Lord," he stated matter-of-factly before moving on to ascertain the condition of her neck.

Undoing the buttons with one hand, he pulled back the fabric and studied the skin of her right shoulder quite thoroughly and then switched his attention to her other shoulder. Both of which he had deemed 'quite rash free' once he placed the stethoscope against her chest.

"Your heart rate is a little elevated," he noted seriously, but there was laughter in his voice, and Rose could see a hint of a smile on his lips in the glow from the fireplace.

"What do you think might be causing that?" she asked.

She tried her best to stay somber and play along with this new game, but she was failing miserably, and was only just containing the giggles that were welling up inside her. Her laughter was contagious, for the Doctor couldn't keep a straight face when he spoke again.

"I'm not sure," he said, smiling.

No longer really trying to keep up the charade, Rose grabbed hold of his tie and brought his face down to hers. She couldn't help but smile when he automatically pursed his lips, expecting the follow through that never came.

"We should find out," Rose suggested with an ornery grin, slowly tugging the knot of his tie loose.

"Quite right, but first…"

He sat up and pulled the earpieces of the stethoscope out of one ear and then the other, dropping it on the bed, so he could take the tie off without hindrance.

Rose watched him in silent anticipation as he shrugged off his jacket and began to make short work of his shirt. She wanted to make a joke about him having to undress to assess her condition, but she was a little afraid of breaking the spell, and have him decided he would much rather be working on his sea monster detector.

Not that she thought a sea monster detector was any real competition.

Crawling over to him as he undid the last button of his shirt, she helped peel it off. Gently kissing the back of his neck as she dropped the fabric away, Rose trailed a soft line of kisses down his spine as he bent over to undo the laces of his shoes.

"I'm supposed to be the one taking care of you," he laughed when he let the shoes fall to the ground.

Snatching up his stethoscope, he turned around and pounced on her, causing her to tumble backward onto the mattress. Smugly straddling her hips, he put the stethoscope back on and bent forward.

"Where were we?" he asked.

"I think you were going to find out what was raising my heart rate."

"Oh, yes," he said. "And I was checking you for any signs of Smallpox."

Grinning wickedly, he tugged at her nightgown, only to find he had to move his knees so he could get it off her, which garnered him another giggle from Rose. Once he was no longer kneeling on it, the Doctor was able to pull the garment up and over Rose's head.

He was more than happy to add it to the clothing pile on the floor.

First breathing on the chest piece to warm it up, be pressed it to the base of her left breast and listened intently to her heartbeat.

"Still elevated," he clucked.

Taking the headset out of his ears, he hooked it around his neck and began to investigate her skin again. First he lifted her right arm and turned it over in his hand, checking every inch over as if truly seeking out signs of the precursory rash of a smallpox infection. Setting that arm down, he switched his attention to the left arm, and looked it over with even more focus.

Adjusting his glasses he bent down lower and peered at her wrist so closely his nose was practically touching her.

Just when it seemed he was about to drop it to her side as well, he opened his mouth and ran his tongue from wrist to elbow. Rose squeaked in surprise, which only made the mischievous grin on the Doctor's face even broader.

"No rash there," he announced proudly.

"So no smallpox, then?"

"Not sure yet."

Pressing his specs more firmly in place he leaned down to give some attention to her chest, because he had to be sure it was clean of any sort of rash as well. Cupping both of her breasts in his hands he massaged them firmly, working his fingertips over every inch.

Rose squirmed underneath him as he gave them a very thorough once over.

Assured the flesh there was smooth and unmarred, he lifted them and peered at the soft skin beneath. One another quick taste would let him know there wasn't any hint of the disease there.

He could feel Rose's moan as he pressed his lips more firmly against her skin.

"Smallpox free," he whispered, trailing kisses down her belly.

She looked up at him though hooded eyes. The frustrations of the day were still building up. He'd spent so many hours completely ignoring her. That she could understand. There were monsters that needed to be dealt with. But now that he was finally giving her attention, officially under the pretense of making her feel better, he still wasn't doing what she needed. What she wanted from him.

Sitting up, she grabbed hold of his wrists, pulled him back up and rolled him over.

Only moving off him long enough to shimmy out of her knickers, Rose straddled the Doctor and rocked against him, breathing in his deep guttural growl as she crushed her lips against his.

Apparently, if she wanted him to do this right, she was going to have to show him how.

*.*.*.*.*

Some time later, Rose rested her head on the Doctor's chest, debating on whether or not she was ready to go back to sleep, when she asked, "So, what else did Mrs. Craven suggest?"

He chuckled and moved to sit up.

First looking over at the end of the bed, he knit his brows thoughtfully and then bent over to look at the floor. Spotting what he was searching for, he climbed out from under the covers and went to get it.

When he had climbed back into the bed, he presented his prize to Rose with a smile.

"She said I ought to read to you."

Looking down at the cover page of the book she'd been handed, she tried to squint in the dim light, but she couldn't make out the title very easily, so she handed it back to him.

"What book is it?"

He didn't answer and only grinned as he settled into the pillows. Opening the book to the first page he began to read.

"_No one who had seen Catherine Morland in her infancy would have supposed her born to be a heroine…"_

Laying her head back down, she shut her eyes and let his voice wash over her. Right now, there was no place she would rather be.

By the time he turned the first page, Rose was already fast asleep.

END


End file.
